


they are the hunters, we are the foxes

by notalone91



Series: LoserFest 2021 [14]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Adult Losers Club (IT), Adult Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Paparazzi, Post-Canon, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Self-conscious Richie, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Soft Richie Tozier, by which i mean we willfully ignore canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29531556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91
Summary: ‘After a brief stint in a New England outpatient facility wherein his manager merely stated mental health issues, comedian Richie Tozier spotted leaving LAX with supportive friend.’ (OK Magazine, 18 October 2016, cover- see pg. 31)When Richie and Eddie make their way back to LA together after defeating IT, they find out they still have some battles to win, especially when a bunch of gossip magazines make his life their business.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: LoserFest 2021 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138544
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	they are the hunters, we are the foxes

**Author's Note:**

> Day 14: Wild Card, something that feels very Taylor (dating/tabloids)

> **‘After a brief stint in a New England outpatient facility wherein his manager merely stated mental health issues, comedian Richie Tozier spotted leaving LAX with supportive friend.’ (OK Magazine, 18 October 2016, cover- see pg. 31)**

> **In talks for new Prime series Haunt Me with acclaimed Horror author Bill Denbrough, comedian, Richie Tozier takes lunch with a member of his team.’ (Star Magazine, 21 October 2016, cover- see pg. 14)**

> **Classy, Not Trashy: Richie Tozier, [Netflix’s Trashmouth Talks Back, Amazon’s Haunt Me] seen having boys day leaving Downtown cafe with a pal. (Lifestyle, 23 October 2016, cover- see pg. 27)**

In the week that followed their return to L.A., Richie and Eddie found themselves plagued by rats. In reality, he should have seen it coming. You don't pull the shit he did and expect to just get away with it. Even though Steve had worked his magic and explained away his frequenting a hospital in the middle of nowhere on Twitter, it didn’t really help as much as he needed it to. He was being followed everywhere by hoards of camera-wielding zombies. 

Or Paparazzo. 

Okay, yeah, that was the more appropriate term, he supposed, but it didn’t change the fact that they were zombie rats with boundary issues and DSLRs with lenses bigger than their brains. Especially considering that they had been hounding him since the door moved out of their way and they reached the cab stand. Even with their hoods pulled up, his glasses swapped out for sunglasses, and their hands laced tightly together, they’d been caught. Then, two days later, when they’d been out to lunch with Bill, Richie had spent most of the meal with his hand on Eddie’s thigh, still in disbelief that he was there with him. It wasn’t until a few days later, alone and staring at the magazines at a corner store, he realized what was going on. The most recent Lifestyle had them comfortably arm and arm on the cover. The word pal glared up at him. He bought all of the copies of OK, Star, and Lifestyle that remained and hurried home. 

He laid down on the bed and poured over the rags, painfully aware that he had dragged Eddie into a media circus. Ironic, considering that they’d just killed an intergalactic dancing clown. He leafed through the one with the oldest print date and gawked. It detailed all sorts of things about his “nervous breakdown” from an “inside source.” He had to wonder if that was what Steve had said or not because, in truth, it was not the most flattering of stories. After the show during which he’d left for Derry, it alleged, he got into a fight with a stagehand, leaving him bloody and bruised. Then, sources said, he’d gone to his hotel and barred himself in, refusing to move from his bed before he’d voluntarily gone and checked himself in for treatment in Maine. The length of his stay had, supposedly, been negotiable and, since he’d gone voluntarily, he was free to go whenever he wished. The source claimed that he just hadn’t wanted to. 

It was bullshit. Compelling bullshit, but bullshit nonetheless. For the first time in weeks, he took his work phone out of his bag and turned it on. Within seconds, Richie was flooded with a barrage of articles and think pieces about what the fuck was going on with him and photos of himself and Eddie since they’d arrived. One picture even showed him on the balcony of his house and stated that he was enjoying the west coast sunshine. 

What the photographer failed to notice was, behind the railing, Eddie was between his knees creating an even warmer sensation. That was something he’d have to rethink because that was too close for comfort. 

He placed his phone face down on the bed and covered his head in his arms. His mind reeled. This type of paparazzi attention had never been a thing for him. Even when he was consistently fucked up, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been papped. And those were months, sometimes years apart. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if it was connected to It. Stan had pointed out to him, early on, that they’d all climbed high in their respective careers. Over the course of being back in Derry, they’d all received big redirections, tonally. Maybe this was his. He thought that it would be something more to do with the screenplay he and Bill were writing and the fact that he had already auditioned for Bill’s new show before he’d even left LA. If this new traction was going to be part of it… 

Maybe he didn’t want it.

While he was panicking, Eddie had stepped into their bedroom quickly stripping off his khakis and polo, standard work fare, and moving to the closet, hurriedly redressing for their dinner with Bev. “Hey, Richie? Are you re-” he turned around, buttoning the slate grey slacks, to find that, no. No, Richie certainly wasn’t ready. Lying prone, buried in magazines in sweats and a ratty old t-shirt was not going to work for STK. “Why aren’t you dressed?” he asked, more than a little annoyed.

“I can’t do it,” he groaned. 

Eddie came back into the room and walked toward the huge bed situated across from him. “What are you t-” Then, he saw it. He sat beside him and placed a hand on Richie’s leg and reached for a copy of Lifestyle with the other. He read over the cover, then paged through to find the accompanying blurb. “Oh. Honey, this isn’t bad,” he said, trying to comfort him. 

He could hear Richie groan. “They keep calling you my friend,” he said, rolling slightly onto his left side to look up at his boyfriend.

“And? I’m okay with that,” he shrugged. When Richie seemed to grow more upset by that, he leaned down to kiss him gently. “It’s a tabloid. They don’t know anything anyway.”

Richie reached his arm up and waved it in the direction of the pages scattered before him, then winced as a few fell to the floor. “Apparently, they’re quick to assume.”

With a frown, Eddie picked up the next magazine and regarded it carefully. The page inside had another picture of the two of them and Bill. “That’s kind of their job,” he said idly, staring at the way his arm was linked around the small of Richie’s back with his thumb in his belt loop and his hand gripping his ass and wondered how anyone could truthfully get platonic from that. He sighed, then continued. “They’re assholes. Don’t worry about it.” He made a mental note to be a little more possessive in public if that was what Richie was worried about. He pinched at his ass, smacked it lightly, then stood up. “Come on, Bev’s waiting.”

“No,” Richie said, stacking up the rest of the magazines and dropping them to the floor. He then slid up into bed the right way and curled up on his side. “She can come here.”

“Nooo,” Eddie crooned, pointedly. “ We can meet her at the restaurant like we discussed.” He grabbed Richie by the ankle and tugged, hard enough to bring his legs off the bed and into half a seated position. 

Whining in protest was about all Richie could bring himself to do. “Eds-”

That wasn’t going to cut it for Eddie, though. “No. Don’t Eds me,” he said, receiving a pointed glare. “This is Bev we’re talking about. Remember Bev?” Richie rolled his eyes. “We haven’t seen her since before she left Derry. Hell, I haven’t seen her since before It was dead. At least not in person, so I think it’s important.” He squatted in front of him, steadying himself with his hands on Richie’s thighs. “She never comes to L.A. We have to see her.” 

He looked up at Richie. It was bizarre. In all reality, they’d only been together for a month and somehow, it felt like forever. This didn’t, by the best of his memory, feel like anything new. They knew each other so well. Their relationship was lived in and comfortable. He should have felt awkward or nervous or shocked to see his partner so down for the first time. Granted, he’d been in the hospital with a sucking chest wound when he’d kissed Richie for the first time, so it wasn’t necessarily the first time. 

They’d had a weird fucking life.

The thing was, paparazzi was the least of their fucking worries. They’d vanquished a prehistoric alien child-killing clown. What could some dickhead with a DSLR do? But, Eddie knew too well that that wasn’t how Richie worked. He knew what It had held over him. He knew how hard he’d struggled to keep it all concealed through his adult life. Now that Richie was with Eddie, he was ready for it to be out in the open. But he had wanted to do it on his terms. He wanted to be in control of the narrative for once and Eddie couldn’t fault him for that.

He stood up and sighed. “Look, I’ll call her and tell her that you’re not coming but I’m gonna go. Do you want me to bring you back anything? I know you were psyched about the burrata-” he said, returning to the closet, talking through the menu aloud as he filtered through his shirts, finally settling on a silk, maroon one he’d just had tailored. He knew that as soon as Richie saw him, he was going to give in. 

It wasn’t his fault he had memorized it. Myra had loved the Real Housewives of LA and forced him to watch it. Yes, forced. He was in no way invested or entertained by it, he’ll have you know. And he hadn’t been low-key excited to realize that moving in with Richie sort of made him one. And he hadn’t jumped at the opportunity when Bev said that she had made them reservations at STK because he wanted to feel like Quad for a hot second. 

Absolutely not. 

He may have been gay, but he wasn’t that gay. 

Richie’s stomach had grumbled angrily before he was even out of his Appetizer Monologue. He stood and crossed to the closet, took one look at Eddie as he plucked out a pair of shoes and socks in the same dark berry color as his shirt. Suddenly, his mind was made up for him. “Fine. Wait here,” he groaned, trading places with Eddie. Digging through his hamper, he came out with a balled-up pair of dark jeans and a button-down shirt that vaguely resembled a bowling alley floor and headed for the laundry room. “Tell her we’ll be late,” he called as he passed.

With a glance down at the stack of magazines, Eddie groaned. “Is that the same-”

“Outfit I wore when we went out to dinner with Bill? Yes. Yes, it is.”

Eddie moved to the doorway and folded his arms, leaning against the door frame. “Dare I ask?” 

“So that they can’t sell the pictures of you because no one will know what day it was,” he shrugged. He was certainly grateful that he’d gotten a brand new washer and dryer a couple of months back. They’d be on their way in a half hour.

“Richie-”

Not wanting to get into it, he popped himself up onto the dryer and laughed. “I learned it from that Harry Potter kid. When he was doing that play where he fucked the horse-”

Eddie groaned, rolling his eyes. “Come on.”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning forward to tug him in between his knees.

Giving in, but making a show out of a lazy protest, he groaned, then reached up, lacing his fingers in Richie’s hair. “I know. I know you are. Why is this bothering you so much?” Richie shook his head and avoided Eddie’s eyes. “Is it-” He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to broach the topic of the clown.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. Richie knew. It was an obvious conclusion to get to. “No. I mean, probably. I just...” he rested his arms on Eddie’s shoulders, then pressed their foreheads together, pausing to figure out just what he wanted to say, “spent so much time afraid of coming out. I haven’t even done it yet and I’m all over gossipy papers and websites and shit. What’s gonna happen when I do?”

“What if you don’t?” Eddie shrugged. It was a fair point. He was sure there were other people in Hollywood who were gay and not out to the general public. “No one really needs to know outside of your personal life, do they?”

Richie pulled back. He was stunned. He had assumed that it would have been necessary. “Do you not want me to tell people?”

That wasn’t a question. People knew. People who mattered knew. As far as the rest of the world knew, if Eddie didn’t have to do it, he certainly wasn’t going to insist that Richie did. “I want you to do whatever you’re comfortable with.” More than anything else, Eddie was not going to make him do anything he didn’t want to do.

Closing his eyes, Richie tried to make himself seem a little more sure. “Look, one of the reasons I didn’t even want to mention the pictures and had every intention of getting my shit together and hiding the evidence before you got home was because I didn’t know where you were on the whole being gay thing.”

Eddie smiled softly. It wasn’t even a question. He was in it. “When I left Myra, that was me deciding to own, as you say, the whole being gay thing.” He reached his hands out to the small of Richie’s back and pulled him closer. “I don't care who knows what. It doesn't affect me. As long as you know that I’m yours, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about anyone else.” Richie huffed a sad laugh. “You, on the other hand, have a career where public opinion matters. I get it. But,” he said, moving so that he was directly in his line of sight and spoke very deliberately, “what that also means is that we have to figure out a happy medium because I have a handsome, charming, shiny new boyfriend and I would like to show him off.” He leaned up onto his tiptoes and kissed Richie. “Okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” Richie breathed. He brought his mouth back down to Eddie’s and slid down off the dryer. “Okay.”

> **What Not To Wear: Could we be bidding the signature, tragic wardrobe adieu? Left, Richie Tozier, chronic outfit repeater, at dinner with mystery man and designer Beverly Marsh. Help him, Bev. (OK! Magazine, 30 October 2016, pg. 12)**

A few days later, Eddie lay in bed filling out the crossword he’d ripped out of the back of one of the magazines Richie had bought before he’d thrown them all out. Richie stood in the looking glass across the room, pushing his hair around and toying with his shirt. “Do I need a makeover?” he asked Eddie, trying to sound nonchalant as he did.

“A what?” Eddie asked, stunned. 

“A makeover,” he repeated, then gestured down at his outfit. Old jeans and a t-shirt were, he thought, basic staples. Ever since he was a kid, he’d liked throwing a patterned shirt over it to make himself stand out. The one he wore that day vaguely resembled a birthday cake, baby blue with rainbow sprinkles. “Do you think the Queer Eye guys would do a bi guy?” he mused. 

Eddie twisted his lip and thought about it. Objectively, he thought that Kyan might, especially considering that archetypically, he was the closest to Eddie. But that would probably make him jealous. And, no, he’d probably only be into gold star gays. “I'm sure some of them would. I bet Ted absolutely would. Carson’s too flighty. Jai, though. He’d probably be down but you’d have to let me w-” he looked up in time just to see Richie squint at him, confused. “Oh, for a makeover, right.”

As it sunk in that Eddie was actually suggesting that he fuck one of the guys from Queer Eye, his mouth dropped wide open. “Is that a discussion you were going to have? With me?” 

“Makes more sense than the one you were trying to have,” he shrugged, tossing the crossword to the side. “A lot of couples have hall passes. I don’t know that many end up leaving their wives for theirs-”

That was enough to draw his attention completely away from his dissection of himself in the mirror. Richie turned and walked toward his boyfriend, resting his knees against the footboard. “What?!” he squeaked, completely stunned.

“Oh right. You’re a celebrity,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes at him. Sometimes, it was hard for him to align Richie, his Richie, with the Richie who he’d watched on TV and listened to on Raw Dog while he was driving to work. “You probably didn’t know about that. Plus, it would probably be weird if you were to, like, run into them at a party and be like, ‘Oh, and by the way, man, my boyfriend wants to bone. Should I give you his number?’”

Richie climbed into the bed, mocking sarcastically, “No. I know what a hall pass is.” Then, he gave a big goofy grin. “I was yours?” he teased. That was going in the text group later. Stan was going to have a field day with it. Ben would probably cry.

“Do you not remember me saying that I knew you didn’t write your own shit?” Eddie said, pushing him off with a laugh as he leaned in to kiss him. “I knew who you were, dickhead. I’d always get this fluttery-” By then, Richie had belly-flopped next to him, his face cupped in his hands, batting his eyes and kicking his feet. “Stop looking at me like that, asshole. Yes, I knew who you were and I was attracted to you even when I didn’t remember that that had literally always been the case.”

“Your wife must have loved that,” he snorted. He’d only met Myra twice, once at the hospital in Derry and the day that Eddie had served her with divorce papers and gotten all of his stuff from their townhouse. It explained the automatic assumption that he’d run away with Richie. Huh. Maybe she wasn’t as astute as he’d been giving her credit for.

Again, he curled his lip. She hadn’t seemed to think much of it at the time. “Topanga was on her list,” he said flippantly.

Richie scrubbed his face with his hand to hide his laughter. “How Tiger Beat.” He was going to let it go. He was. But then, a thought occurred to him. A Trashmouth Trademark. “Did you ever-”

Having expected his admission to cause a distraction, Eddie gave a cheeky smile. “Did I ever what?” he asked, leading the question. 

That was all the encouragement he needed. Richie moved a little closer, sliding his hand up Eddie’s thigh suggestively. Did you ever whack off thinking about me?” Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes, then shoved Richie over. “Oh, come on! Give me something,” he whined. “I’m your boyfriend.” He rolled flat on his back and tugged at Eddie’s hand. “It’s not that weird to masturbate thinking about your boyfriend. In this instance, that would be me, if you recall, and I’m feeling down about myself and I would like to know that you used to-”

Before he could finish, Eddie was no longer able to keep up the schtick. “Fine. Do you really want to hear this? It’s…” he quirked his eyebrow up suggestively, then let out a burst of air through his nose. “It’s kind of creepy.” 

“Yeah, but you're my creep.” 

Eddie let himself smile, carefully constructing how he wanted to play this hand. “I used to dream about you,” he said, staring up at the vent in their ceiling. “I’d go to one of your shows and you’d see me in the front row and get all distracted. You’d flirt and tease me, call me all sorts of names.” 

He propped himself up on his elbow and started trailing his finger up and down Richie’s chest. “Then, I’d go outside to get an autograph at the stage door and you’d be outside smoking.” It hit him, then, that that wasn’t something he should have been able to know. “I’d never seen you smoke, but I just knew. In my dreams, you always did,” he laughed. On a psychological level, he probably could have chalked it up to a strange fixation on oral sex. But it could also have been his brain processing that he knew that Richie smoked. 

“And you’d see me, and you’d pull me backstage and into your dressing room. You’d waste absolutely no time. You’d kiss me,” he said, climbing up on top of him and doing just as he’d narrated. “You’d strip my shirt off. I’d grab you by the belt and kiss you again,” which he did. “You’d make some joke that I remember always thinking was funnier than the rest of the show because it was natural and unrehearsed.” He leaned down and rested on his elbows, kissing gently down his neck. 

Richie arched his neck to allow him more access. That wasn’t what he’d been aiming for when he started this part of the conversation, but he wasn’t mad about it. He’d never turn that down.

“It always ended up with me bent over your dressing room counter or, sometimes, a bathroom sink.” He leaned up and dragged his hands across Richie’s broad chest to his strong arms. “Basically, always in front of a mirror so that I could still see you, even with you behind me.” Richie shrugged out of his button-down as Eddie pushed it off, then lifted himself up, letting him strip off the t-shirt as he spoke. “And I’d wake up rock hard and have to go take care of it in the shower.” 

He hooked one finger into Eddie’s belt loop and tugged, as if asking permission to do the same. He untucked his shirt and slid his hands up, taking the sweater he wore along with.

Eddie moved back, careful not to put too much pressure on Richie’s knees as he did. He kissed down his chest. Then, he smiled up at him devilishly. “But I’d always imagine you in there with me,” he said, unbuttoning Richie’s jeans and palming over his length. “Thing is, my imagination could never do you justice,” he said, sliding down his briefs to reveal all of him. “You’re literally the man of my dreams, dickhead,” he said before sinking his mouth down to kiss around the base of him.

Ordinarily, the mere prospect of getting head from Eddie would have given him a stiffy in a jiffy. Stuck in the self-pity rut he was in? That wasn’t likely. “Your imagination must seriously suck, then,” he huffed. “I mean, when we’re talking about the doughy before picture of some cliche-”

Sitting up, Eddie scoffed. “Richie, you don't need Queer Eye unless they're offering to fix the ones in your head which are apparently more fucked up than I ever thought they were if you see this body in the mirror in the morning and see doughy,” he huffed, gesturing over his completely bare chest. 

“I could probably get contacts if that would help,” he shrugged. He’d always hated his glasses and they were more of a pain in the ass than anything else now.

That was it. Mood killed. “Oh, my God. Honey, what is this about?” Eddie asked, rocking off of him to sit cross-legged beside him. Richie reached onto the bedside table and opened his phone, revealing the OK! Magazine homepage to him. He took the phone, flicked through the article, littered with pictures of their dinner with Bev the week prior. “That’s it. I'm canceling your Alerts.”

“No,” Richie objected, reaching up and trying to get his phone back. “I have to know if there's something I need to manage.”

“Then I'll put it on my phone,” he said, finishing the mute feature and inputting his own email as the primary. “At least for now.”

Richie tried again to retrieve it. “Babe, it's important. I say stupid shit all the time and it's easier for me to handle it if I see it.”

"Yes, but have you seen you lately?" Eddie asked. It was a pointed question, sure, but there was no malice behind it. He was worried. Richie frowned at him,, but he shook his head. "Can you filter out gossip magazines?"

He shook his head sadly. "Nope. Tried."

With a shrug, Eddie considered the matter closed. "Then, consider me your PR rep because I won't let you torture yourself. Let them say what they want. Doesn't matter if we don't hear it."

"That's not the point," Richie said, growing exasperated.

"It is, though!" He put Richie’s phone down on his nightstand face down, then turned to face him again. "You're a person and you still deserve to have a personal life."

"I chose a public career. I did this to myself," he argued.

Even though he was right, to an extent, it wasn't fair. Who the fuck were they to make him feel like this? He regarded him carefully, then pushed Richie’s hair back from where it had fallen in his eyes. "Are you happy?"

That wasn’t a question Richie knew how to answer. He opened his mouth to make a joke, but decided against it, considering that Eddie had already tried that and it didn't work. "When I'm here with you? Yes. When I'm working? Yes." The time in-between? Less so. He was exhausted of being on edge.

It was as though Eddie heard him. "Anytime else?" No answer. "That's what I thought," Eddie said decidedly. He leaned himself over his boyfriend, looking him directly in the eye. "If this was just about you going to your closet, deciding you hated everything in it, and wanting to go on a shopping spree, I'd support that unwaveringly." He brought his face down almost within kissing range, then added, "Don't change who you are because of someone who couldn't be a real journalist."

"Oof. Feisty," Richie cooed. He moved to close the gap, tugging Eddie’s lower lip between his.

When Richie released him, he lowered his voice to just barely a growl. "They hurt my man."

A few days later, Eddie managed to talk Richie into a date. A movie theatre downtown was playing all second run horror movies for the month of October with My Bloody Valentine being one of the first ones up. Richie, in true Richie fashion, had found a T-shirt of The Babadook and covered it with a shirt that was printed like a pirate map that Eddie had bought him earlier that week. 

They came out of the theatre hand in hand and looking as cozy as they could. From across the street, there were flashbulbs. Richie started walking fast, trying to avoid the attention. He just wanted to get back to the car.

"Come here,” Eddie called, snagging the back of his shirt before he was out of reach.

A few of the bolder leeches called out, “Richie!” trying to get his attention.

Eddie jogged for a few steps to finally end up in front of him. “Eyes on me, Tozier,” he said quietly, pressing his palms flat against Richie’s chest.

“Eds-” He tried to protest. He’d forgotten, though, that Eddie was a determined little fucker. And, moreso, if he wanted something, Richie was never, never going to say no. He was already so fucking wrapped around his finger.

“I love you and I'll handle this.”

Inspiration struck that day. He couldn’t help the fashion part. Not really. But the one thing he could help was with the mislabeling of their relationship. He reached up and trailed his thumb over Richie’s defined, squarely set jaw. Then, he pulled him into a deep, sensual kiss, at the same time flipping off the cameras. 

That was much more fun than outfit repeating.

> **Secret Lover: Tozier's Mystery Man turns out to be childhood best friend and recent boyfriend. (OK! Magazine, 4 October 2016, cover see pg. 19)**

The next morning, when the alert showed up on Eddie’s phone, he simply laughed and leaned over to kiss his sleeping boyfriend. If he could offer him nothing else, at least he could try to offer him some semblance of peace. They both deserved it.


End file.
